


a case study

by kanonberiz



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Post-War, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), also hilda attempts to set linhardt and claude up at times, small mentions of hilda's crush on ashe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanonberiz/pseuds/kanonberiz
Summary: “This hair band? Someone gave it to me, I think. Yet if that’s the case, I’ve forgotten who.”
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril & Linhardt von Hevring
Kudos: 7
Collections: 2020 Ultra Rarepair Big Bang





	1. identify the problem

He first reacts with a small, amused grin, like Linhardt had just heard a remark so impossible that the very idea of it is laughable. Quietly, his expression melts into one of dry calmness, grin gone as soon as it appeared, while he sips his tea with an uninterested hum. **“Tales of Miss Goneril’s life? And from _me_ , of all people?”**

Linhardt lets the taste of Angelica dwell in his mouth, warm and relaxing on his tongue. Despite the flatness in his expression, there seems to be a certain fond twinkle in his eyes before he sets the cup down, porcelain tinkling with the small saucer underneath. _He listens_ , but only barely-- Linhardt distracts himself with the delicate lines painted on his cup, white canvas and an intricate weaving of vines in a green so dark but not oppressive, adorned with little pink blossoms as it crawls from one side to the delicate silver handle. 

**“I assume this is all because of our… rumored alliance during our academy days. Unfortunately, I don’t have much to say about her, and I doubt I’m a proper source for a telling of her epic.”** If it were about Crests, however, then he is ready with as much information as he’s gathered, both from when he was a student and when he researched on the side during the war. **“Miss Hilda does have the uncannily hidden flair of keeping true feelings and untold insecurities to herself, many of which, in my opinion, would be quite the-- in her words-- “saucy secrets” that makes a story about her fascinating.”**

( Like a book with pages glued firmly together, delicate purple prose on one side and free-spirited messy scribbles underneath, he had found out. She called him a picture book once, dry wit and blunt pictures and reading between the lines. Linhardt thinks she and her weird romantic metaphors are rubbing off on him, so he’s allowed to entertain an analogy about her just this once. )

**“...If you really must unfortunately insist, I suppose I could indulge you in my many experiences of having had to be present within a foot or so of her. It’s happened more times than I can count, but with someone like Hilda, it was somewhat inevitable.”** Linhardt punctuates his last word with the tiniest of chuckles.

He sets his elbows on the table, folds his hands together just below his chin as he leans forward, face adorned with a calm smile. **“Was I exasperated with it? Oh, far from it. If anything, all I had to do was nap and she was more than satisfied.”**


	2. state your hypothesis

Linhardt does his best to manage. Quite a difficult feat, what with the school year just starting and lack of motivation nor excitement not really helping, but alas-- House Leader Edelgard is a force to be reckoned with, in all the ways, and loathe as he to admit it, he knows no amount of convincing or word play would let him escape this mock battle.

Oh, but the way the cool breeze calls for him, and the sweet soft murmurs of the grass as he carefully drags his feet across them to face an "enemy" from the other house… Maybe he doesn't have to try too hard. Maybe he can just do what he must, at its barest minimum, and then gracefully fall into greenery, moaning his sad defeat. His fellow house members will avenge him bravely _(Caspar will run, screaming with all his might and ham, how_ dare _you strike my best friend!)_ and Linhardt will be one with the earth and soil, sweet flora singing him a lullaby for his efforts.

A good a plan as any, he decides.

The one who relieves him of this treacherous exercise is a freckled boy from the Blue Lions house. All the way in the distance, the young boy spots him while Linhardt busies himself with tailing the ever excitable Caspar, arms swinging hard, axe tagging just about anyone and legs getting scrapes along the way. Linhardt knows better than to stop him at this point, so he settles for being Caspar's extra set of eyes and on the spot healer. Ashe, as he would come to know the freckled boy, is crafty enough to notice this, and soon fires an arrow at him. 

It hits his arm, and then his side. Mock battles aren't supposed to be painful, but it _is_ uncomfortable whenever something that could poke you gains extra impact from the velocity. **"Oh no,"** he mockingly cries out as he drops to his knees, **"it seems I've been hit and can't go on any longer."**

**"Linhardt!"** Caspar cries out, unironically pained. His eyes quickly shoot towards the source, and Ashe sprints away and weaves between thick rows of sturdy trees, unfortunately out of Caspar's tactical reach. Of course, this doesn't faze him, and while Linhardt is comfortable in this soft patch of grass, the sounds of Caspar screaming bloody murder and the unpolished thump, thump, thump of axe on wood in the muffled distance certainly dampens the mood a bit.

If he has to be frank, the loud, commanding speech somewhere nearby of his house leader bickering with another house leader-- was it the Golden Deer's?-- is just as invasive. At least the sounds of constant yelling won't be something that routinely accompanies him to sleep, though for now, he will excuse it. The sky above him is blue and clear and fills his vision with calmness and peace, and his head is cradled with the warm embrace of the cool meadow. The breeze tickles his cheeks and gently closes his eyelids, and all is right in the world.

**"You're from the Black Eagles right?"**

Or so Linhardt thinks.

**"Jeez, your House Leader sure packs a punch… Is she always like that?"**

Linhardt doesn't dare open his eyes, and instead, offers a non-committal hum. He keeps his hands folded above his stomach, endures the ensuing one-sided conversation he has no intentions of participating in, and prays fervently for sleep to claim him and knock him out already so that this stranger who seems to have so much to say would leave him alone.

**“Guess speaking against her is a death sentence, huh?-- Oh my gosh, Claude! Go get her for me, you tricky trickster!”**

Claude, huh? For some reason, Linhardt isn’t surprised that a Deer is trying to chat him up like this. All of them seemed far from docile, if he was being honest-- bright and wild as their color motif, jumping to the rhythm of their own devices. The farthest things from what he would call peaceful and quiet, and the loud cheering beside him makes sure he remembers it. He opens his eyes just a peep, aiming to put a face to the shrill voice, and spots soft pink threads leisurely swimming with the wind in cheerful disappointment.

**“Boooo! Claude, you didn’t even try that hard, you silly goose!”** She laughs despite their house’s obvious loss, and then turns towards him. **“Ooh, did you see? Edelgard just swung at Claude so hard, he fell back on his butt! Her Crest sure makes her extra scary...”** **“With the way you’ve been commentating the whole fight, I doubt there was a need for me to use my own eyes.”**

For some reason, the girl regards him with an amused, sly expression. **“Ooh, snarky.”**

Linhardt closes his eyes again. If he really puts his mind to it, he could remember her face, remember to steer clear of her if he lets them cross paths in the halls, and then he could just live on to survive the dreary days of half-hearted lessons and boring school topics until graduation. Out of the frying pan that is compulsory education and into the fire that is presiding over affairs he has no interest in. 


	3. formulate a research plan

**“So I heard something reaaaaaally interesting.”**

**“Oh joy. What steaming gossip, pray tell, would you bless me with today, Hilda?”**

**“Augh, Lin! I knew you’d be _so_ on board with this. So listen--”**

Patience, Linhardt reminds himself. If he’s lucky enough, maybe Hilda will drop some information that he knows _she knows_ he’d be interested in… but as always, he will have to endure at least five more topic changes ranging from Raphael’s recent buffet accident to that cute Lion commoner that’s been catching her eye to Claude sneaking in the library to read about Relics into the night (that one he admits he’s incredibly interested to learn more) to something about Seteth worrying about Flayn, before finally, finally, the only thing he really wants to hear is finally put on the table.

Such was how he was so easily able to put a face to her presence.

**“Catherine looks really powerful, doesn’t she? Claude has been talking about her Relic for _days._ I can’t even come up to him without him making a small comment about it! Can you believe it, Lin?”**

There it is-- Linhardt relaxes against the tree, clothed back parting from bark just a little to slightly lean in closer to the conversation. If Hilda notices the obviously casual way he crosses his arms in quiet thought, she doesn’t say. 

( He’s come to realize she’s surprisingly good at that-- keeping quick, astute observations to herself for future disposal. Loathe as him to say it, that perceptiveness of her is something he wishes she had less-- Hilda is so amazingly good at reading the atmosphere and manipulating it, and once she had identified his interest in Crests ( **“Oh my gosh, I totally thought you were just checking out everyone’s muscles!” “I am so blatantly astounded by this that I can’t even form a proper response to it.”** ), it didn’t take much for her to dangle it in front of him with poor ol’ him like a rabbit chasing a carrot on a stick. 

To say that he is just as easily manipulated by Hilda as the rest of the student body is quite a reach, however. Linhardt tries his best to get away from her-- she catches him in his little places of quiet nap hiding, and he makes sure to keep feigning sleep while she seemingly tattles to herself. He likes to think he could get easier information from other people-- like the library, or Tomas, or even Edelgard when she’s feeling particularly generous. Information gathered from Hilda’s stories are just a comfortable arrangement, one he could live with or without. From what he sees of Hilda, she’s far too involved with too many people to ever even really hound him constantly.

He wouldn’t exactly call this “friendship,” so Hilda supplies it for him: **“We’re like partners-in-crime, dealing black market secrets!”** Linhardt couldn’t really help the snort that comes out of him at this. **“Of course. Nothing more terrible than two nobles from two distant lands committing underground crimes.”** )

**“A descendant of Charon, wasn’t she? And her Relic’s called Thunderbrand?”**

**“A Major Crest of Charon, mind you. Oh, stop right there-- I can hear it!”**

**“Hear what?”**

**“I can hear you mumbling the exact same things Claude has been mumbling in the library while looking up all those books about Fódlan!”**

**“Clearly, it would’ve been more beneficial if Claude and I were discussing this.”**

**“Lin, I’d set you up with him anytime you want me to. Now if only that guy would let me in his heart… That guy’s way too much of a tight-lipped book. So many secrets stowed inside, and for what!”** Hilda has her arms in an unfamiliar cross as she looks into the distance. She does have a tendency to dwell on people, but in this case, could it be a tactical approach to furthering the nobility and power of her family? The Gonerils are descended from the elites, after all, and if the Riegans and Gonerils decide to, say, connect with each other through a family tree, how could it potentially affect the heritage of their Crests? If he remembers correctly, nobody possesses Major Crests of either… If it’s like that, well, Linhardt doesn’t think he has any qualms to staying on board, if only to be at the forefront of witnessing Crestology magic happen.

**“I see Ms. Goneril has her sights set towards being the Alliance heir’s wife.”**

**“Oh, not at all! That’d be waaaay too much responsibility.”** A pause. The way she has her eyes on her lap makes Linhardt realize she’s thinking deeper into this than usual. Unfortunately, he hypothesizes, she probably doesn’t even care much about the idea of breeding for noble accreditation. **“You know, maybe it’s just me-- but Claude looks kind of lonely. Before, he used to remind me of you--”**

**“Flattering.”**

**“-- but like, you seem all in tune with you and your whole sleepy loner schtick, you know? Oh, no offense--”**

A yawn. **“None taken.”**

**“--Right, so. You’re comfortable reading up on stuff and being in your own place. Your own… tempo?”**

**“And the next leader of the Alliance, _being the next leader of an entire Alliance_ , is different?”**

**“...Claude seems like he’s purposely distant. You know, like he’s out here scheming something because he has to. You’re out here reading up on Crests and Relics because you like the topic. Not to say Claude doesn’t like what he reads, but… feels less of a passion and more of an obligation…”**

Linhardt tries again. **“...He’s the Alliance leader, Hilda. Or soon to be one, at least.”**

**“Ugghhh, I know! But still… What use is being in an academy if you’re not gonna live your fun student life all carefree and happy?”**

**“Everyone has their own definitions of what makes them happy, I suppose.”**

As Linhardt looks across the field, verdant foliage reaching towards the pristine blue sky, and colorful flora drizzling generously over greenery surrounding them, he finds this peace his happiness. There’s a sense of unbridled freedom just basking in the sun’s warm light, not wondering about anything else but the idea of Crests and their effects on the afflicted bodies… 

**“Well, mine would be, possibly, if these two guys I know who are such huge nuts for Crests and Relics actually tried to, oh, I don’t know, spend a night talking about Crests and Relics and maybe more? With each other. Together.”**

**“Maybe when I see the Thunderbrand in action.”**

**“Darn it!”**


	4. find background information

Linhardt doesn’t particularly remember names unless they’re important, like the name of Heroes’ Relics and the Saints, or unless they’re names of people he’s constantly exposed to, like the Black Eagles, and, due to her constantly hovering around him with tiny, distracted scatters of bountiful information, Hilda. He isn’t very fond of pinpointing details and relationships between people either, unless it would be for the purpose of mapping someone’s lineage and seeing how Crests crawl across bloodlines and settle into bloodstreams before slithering somewhere down the line again. 

It takes him a while to get interested to find out about Lonato and his relation to Ashe, and even more to come to terms that innocent civilians were involved in the rebellion, and the measures that had to be done to quell this riot. The students are awash with misery and shock and discomfort, and while some fare better than others, it still doesn’t take away the horror. During this time, exchanges with Hilda are quick and not often: when he does catch her, it seems she has her arms full with a shuddering shoulder or two. 

The Sword of Creator surely became the talk of the whole academy, and Hilda eventually manages to get him to directly converse with Claude about the how’s and why's of such a Relic. She’s sorely disappointed when it turns out they did nothing but end the conversation quickly after discussing Byleth’s possible lineage from Nemesis, as if agreeing on a topic so unanimously is more than enough and needed discussion no further. 

**“Th-- that’s it?!”** Her roar of indignation slices through the humid air in the gardens, sleepy dew stumbling away from the tiny plants surrounding them. 

**“It was certainly more fruitful conversation than my usual with… certain other people.** ” He crosses his legs, snuggles deeper into the bench. The night is stuffy and dark and his nerves are alight with theories and hypotheses, and Linhardt blames the unforgiving excitement amongst a fulfilled weariness on the underlying static in his fingertips, dated paper and Claude’s thoughts still hovering beneath prickly skin. 

Hilda cradles her head while she groans. **“The point was to get you guys to hang out more so it wouldn’t be too difficult to find you when I need something…”**

When he had learned about Hilda, there was a common consensus about her-- that of her being so lazy, nearly up to par with his own, but unlike him who just isn’t so interested in much and comfortable about it, Hilda wants so much with so little effort. Linhardt’s no expert in psychology, and he doesn’t bother with the details. If he could have just one comment, however, it’s that he finds it a little bit amusing that Hilda hates exerting effort and yet seems to unconsciously find herself working just enough to make her preferred ends meet.

**“Ah, her true objectives come to light at last. As I’m sure Claude has told you time and time again, your pen is just so meticulously crafted specifically for your grip--”**

**“Ashe,”** she suddenly whispers between them, and he follows Hilda’s gaze towards the Lion prowling quietly in the dark. Sure enough, even in the dim of the night, the way his silver locks gleam in the moonlight is obvious. Linhardt looks over Hilda, waiting for her to get over that concerned look in her eyes, and then she’s up on her feet and sure with her footsteps as she follows after him.

He doesn’t really have to, he’s sure, but as if it was so natural, he follows after her, already recognizing the way her eyebrows knit together in worry. 

**“He can’t be doing something bad, right--”** he hears her mumble to herself. When Ashe dips in a particularly dark corner, Hilda practically sprints closer. Linhardt knows better than to reel her in-- in some ways, much like Caspar, Hilda has a particular rhythm to her current that is just unavoidable and untouchable.

When he turns to where she slips in to follow Ashe, he’s greeted by the sight of a soft-looking plump tabby. He hears Hilda’s relieved sigh fade into a fond coo, and Linhardt finds himself letting out his own sigh he didn’t know he was holding. He doesn’t miss the way her air completely changes to something less tense, nor does the fond sparkle in her eyes when Ashe talks with her escape him, but most of all, he doesn’t quite mind that all of three of them have come to visit this cat every night since. 

Of course, while the cat’s company is more than welcome, walking in on the three house leaders and their professor just before a secret excursion and getting roped into it certainly wasn’t the same. He makes sure Hilda is greatly aware of the unimpressed glare he sends her even in the shadows of the Abyss, but far from making her feel guilty, it only has her snickering under her breath, lips trembling while they do their best to hide the growing smirk on her face.

( **“We shouldn’t have sneaked up on them.”**

**“And just let them get swallowed up by that great big hole?”**

**“Did I stutter?”**

**“Ashe wanted to help more than either of us!”**

**“Come on now, you guys. We can’t deny our house leaders when they ask for help.”**

**“Hilda only wants to help you.”**

**“Linhardt!”** )


	5. gather references and citations

The Abyss proves to be a treasure trove he almost willingly walked out of. Deep in the depths are shelves and shelves of books that never see the light of day, hidden underneath the monastery like quiet, fading trees deeply rooted in soil so barren and decrepit that uprooting them willy-nilly is out of the question. Dare take one out, and risk destroying everything else in the immediate vicinity… **“These are way darker than our black market gossip dealings, Lin,”** Hilda says once, and he agrees. None of these pages ever will grace the path the archbishop walks on, and all of them know it. Besides him, Claude fizzles alight with curiosity and wide-eyed interest. His constant company in the Abyssian Library is thwarted only by the secretive winding passages that pique the interest of a sly stag.

For tonight, a rosy fawn keeps him company. Half-heartedly, her arms muffle a bored groan from the face cradled underneath.

**“I’m surprised you’ve still got your eyes open, Hil.”**

**“It’s a ruse. My soul is asleep. I’m so deep in sleep my eyelids have ceased to function. Also I am honestly enjoying the sight of you reading through these smelly books.”**

**“Your wakefulness is regrettably a pain I must endure amidst this blessed calling of knowledge.”**

**“But Lin! I’ve never seen your drowsy eyes look so alive! I swear, for once? You don’t look like… like…”**

**“Go on.”**

**“I was gonna call you a zombie, but… I don’t know how this completely escaped my radar, and now I feel stupid for missing it! You’ve got really good skin, Lin, and I mean, really good!”**

**“Yes, it certainly has that effect when people don’t ever so blatantly poke deep into my personal space and give my skin enough space to breathe.”**

Hilda gracefully leans away from him, freeing her hands from being firmly planted on the table for support, and sets herself back in her seat as she lets out an over dramatic gasp. **“Is that why my own pores are so big? Oh gosh, this means I have to stay away from always talking with people, doesn’t it?”**

**“Sounds quite the torture. Will you be okay, I wonder.”**

**“Maybe staying with people who have the same flawless skin can help! You know, like… birds of the same feather flock together?”**

**“Thankfully you’re no bird, but a fawn.”**

**“You never know!! I’m gonna visit the fortune teller later… Maybe she’ll tell me if I ever grow wings and start flying. But heights are kind of scary… What do you think about heights, Lin?”**

**“Would never dream of them,”** he catches himself mumbling in between gratuitous tellings of the Four Apostles, a finger perched thoughtfully in between the top of his lip and the bottom of his nose. **“As much as I imagine fortune tellers fancy fantastical futures like that, I’m sure they’re barred by the constraints of reality.”**

Hilda whines. **“So you don’t need a fortune teller, Lin?”**

**“I don’t think I do, no. It doesn’t take one to let me know I’ll either rot a Count with duties I never asked for or actually pursue a scholarly quest about Crests.”**

Hilda bites her lip at this. While she doesn’t say it, he knows she’s aware of how heavy the duties associated with the head of a house is. **“Being an heir sure is a lot of work. All the pressure and responsibilities…”** Hilda sticks her tongue out in disgust. **“Eugh! A realistic future for me is just… I dunno, getting married to some noble, probably. Predictable, don’t you think?”**

**“And you wouldn’t like the dresses and jewelry that comes with it? Fancy tea parties to sing and dance in and pretty flowers to pick in your garden?”**

**“That sounds lovely,”** she sighs.

**“It’s not quite like you to be dreaming of something any less than that.”**

For some reason, Hilda seems to weigh something between the silence that follows. Linhardt lets her pore over whatever thoughts could be swimming in her head, because the small moment of respite gives him a chance to himself pore over the information in this tome in greater detail. 

He waits, but then it seems she’s clammed up.

**“So I heard Dimitri talking about Edelgard’s hair a while ago…”**

She not-so-skillfully changes the subject, and Linhardt takes his eyes away from the pages to look at her. The idea of Edelgard’s hair changing colors is irrelevant to him, but in the next second Hilda is looking at him with this mischievous glint in her eye, and he’s being swept away by the current again.

**“...What do you have in mind?”**

**“I’m just thinking, but-- hear me out! -- but what if there’s actually magic out there that can make you change your hair color, and--”**

**“Would you like to be bald?”**

**“No! What if we actually changed our hair colors?”**

He lets the idea sink in. **“And to what color, then?”**

**“Ooh, now that’s a doozy. Let me think… Wanna switch colors?”**

At this point, Linhardt has closed his book to lean back in his chair. **“Pink would make me easy to spot in the library, which means it’ll be easier for Edelgard to either drag me away to go on a mission or to nag me to insomnia about my class attendance.”**

**“Booo!”**

**“I didn’t say it was a no.”**

**“Yeeeesss!!!”**

**“I’ll have to look into it. But surely you have your own precautions when it comes to this? Hair is a person’s crowning glory after all, and what if I accidentally recite a spell that makes you go bald instead? I’m sure you wouldn’t like that.”**

**“If I go bald, you’re going bald too!”**

As indignant as Hilda sounds, she does start burying herself deeper into the crevices of the library, presumably to find any spellbook that could help them avoid disaster while also giving them the answer to their silly game. With her lacking presence and his common sense finally his only company, he’s temporarily stricken with regret at giving in to this decision, only for Hilda to dump a tall, heavy tower of thickly bound books on their table a few minutes later. So short was that little intake of breath above the surface, and so quick does she drag him down with her persuasive existence. The dark scripts on each of the front covers glower at him with a distinct laughter appending it, like a punchline to a joke he will soon grow wary of hearing.

**“On second thought, this could be more trouble than it’s worth.”**

**“What, scared of some research? Mr. Linhardt von Hevring, scared to learn about a niche magical art?”**

**“I’m surprised you know the meaning of the word.”**

**“I’m surprised you’re not jumping at the chance of forgetting you’re a Hevring and just living one day of your life as a Linhardt. A pink-haired Linhardt, that is.”**

He scoffs. **“I want to be a Crest Scholar Linhardt, not a pink-haired Linhardt. Just making sure, but you’re actually on board with this? Right in front of dearest Balthie?”**

**“But-- but new hair colors mean more fashionable opportunities! Can you imagine what cute accessories I can make to match our hair? There are some pretty unique flowers sprouting around here, you know. Anyway, Holst is a worrywart and Balthie could tattle, but I can work something out when it comes to that, no biggie.”**

It clicks for him then. **“For your realistic future?”**

For the first time since he’s known her, Hilda gives him a sheepish grin. **“Crafting accessories is the only thing Holst hasn’t done. So no risk of comparing and risking disappointment from people who think I should do better, right?”**

( In the end, some boxes weren’t meant to be opened. It didn’t really take much to convince Hilda that changing hair colors is far more of an exhausting endeavor, in more ways than one. )


	6. collect data

The surface isn’t any brighter than the darkness that loomed the Abyss. The elder Gautier’s fate was a horror story come to life, and Hilda finds the tale too morbid to even mention it behind whispered pages in the library, even though she sits in the same table as Claude and Linhardt who struggle to peel the stiff mold from fading paper in an effort to read into a hard to grasp truth. Linhardt knows she’d be far more involved in the who’s than the how’s and why’s, but when she maps out who has which Relic and Crest and what these people can do, he can excuse her impatient sighs and disinterested whines.

When she tells him she saw Hapi sneaking out to sit under the clouds, he doesn’t miss the glint in her eye--

( **“So how’d it go?”** she’d ask during lunch, fluttering her eyelashes at him while she cups her cheeks cutely.

**“Still won’t read me tales from her village about Timotheos,”** he’d reply in between yawns, and she’d quip, 

**“Sheesh, maybe you were being too forward. Like always.”**

while a student passing by their table does a double-take at the sight of them together, or maybe their conversation. )

\-- or when she tells him about Seteth and his scary presence, and the absurdity of his overprotectiveness over Flayn--

( **“Do big brother instincts even work on people that aren’t their siblings?”** she asks quietly while she leans on him more than the tree. Linhardt finds himself snoring softly at the question, half-present and half-already in the realm of dreams.

**“I think people can just naturally spot a lazy little sister.”**

**“I think,”** she responds quickly, voice high-pitched, **“that Seteth is just a living fossil and that’s how he’s so good at being scary!”**

The topic of Seteth’s longevity as well as his connection to Flayn shakes him awake somewhat. **“Aren’t his and Flayn’s Crests rare ones?”**

**“Oh, you betcha--”** and with her flowery words and dramatic flair, Hilda narrates the way their Crests glow through gentle incantations and harsh winds, her hair spilling over his lap as she makes herself comfortable on his thighs, blue sky above them the canvas for her stories. He doesn’t say it, but he appreciates the colors she puts into her words, and it makes imagining his why’s and how’s easier. )

\--or even when she tattles about serendipitously catching Edelgard slipping through hidden alleys and in between dense masks of trees:

**“Like, the way she just.. Gets swallowed up by those trees in the field? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s good at moving in the dark… I guess royalty can be stifling so it isn’t weird to find better places to be. No wonder Claude can be a little wild,”** she remarks that time.

**“As is a noble I’ve come to know,”** he mumbles while he adjusts the reel on his fishing rod. With how Hilda has made her presence very known and permanent beside his, she’s quick to catch his quiet comment.

**“Hey! You can be pretty wild yourself, y’know. Your wit, especially. Oh, and the way you just walk up to people and ask things-- pretty gutsy of you, to be honest.”**

The lure flies and zips between them and into the water, and Linhardt sighs pleasantly, already taking his spot on his favorite crate by the fishing pond. Hilda scrambles to sit beside him, and he nudges her roughly away with his hips when she tries to sneak a seat. **“Find your own.”**

**“Okay, stingy!”** Hilda sticks out her tongue for good measure, face crinkling rather distastefully. She finds an upturned bucket a few steps from his crate, picks it up to plant it closer towards him, and then delicately sits on it, like a lady poised to wave prettily at random men that pass them by. **“Do none of you ever wonder where Edelgard goes?”**

**“Do _you_ wonder where Claude goes?”** And before she replies, **“Actually, don’t answer that. You wonder where everyone is and what they’re doing all the time.”**

**“It pays to keep tabs on some people! You never know what you find. It’s like… research. You keep tabs on Crest-bearers, right?”**

He hums, unable to deny it, but also refusing to explicitly acknowledge it between them. The proud snicker he hears in the next second is quiet, but enough of a landmark to signify her victory in this discussion.

A small silence follows, a comfortable lapse that has become a mainstay in all the hours they’ve spent together. As much as Hilda loves to talk and gossip, she can be quite the enjoyable company when quietness befalls them. There’s no fidgeting or awkwardness that he’s used to receiving from people trying to wade through the foggy white noise, and instead he can just focus on the way a dense shadow in the waters has been slithering around his bait. 

The water’s surface is calm, orange light glittering above deep purple and twinkling yellow to a melody he knows so well. The fish weaves a path around his bait, thinking, thinking, thinking… It teeters close at one point, and Linhardt prepares himself, eyes fixed and seeing only the shape of it amidst the light ripples of uncertainty, but as soon as it decides to lunge, it swims back and away, a trail of frantic paddling in its wake. Linhardt lets out the ever so familiar breath he’s been holding, nerves tight and crying as they relax.

**“Doesn’t it feel weird finding out things you shouldn’t?”** Hilda asks innocently.

Linhardt’s bait dips, the sound of water swallowing it whole loud and ringing in his ears, and his body lights up, consumed in the only flames of adrenaline he basks in. He hooks, he plays, and he reels the fish in before he knows it. Hilda claps beside him, loud exclamations adorning the sound of her polite compliments as they marvel at the size of his recent catch. She stares at the fish, eyes wide and non-believing, and he just smiles, pride overflowing and his ego satisfied. 

**“Catching the world’s secrets is what freedom is about.”**

It takes him a while to realize that Hilda has been laughing rather animatedly in response. **“Lin’s brand of freedom, huh? Sounds just like you.”**

Ashe walks in on them and their three-way awed stare battle with the fish, and it takes Linhardt out of escaping the grand banquet and regrettably becoming the unwitting host of the night for bringing everyone food. Raphael barks excited laughter while he maws a particularly large chunk of ham, Dorothea breaks out in darling notes in between sips of grape juice, and Manuela tries her best to convince the faculty to let the students celebrate the feast of accomplished play battles and hard-earned survival, none of the bloods spilled and none of the limbs lost, only victory and cheer fruitfully labored.

It’s to be expected that he would sneak out and crash in before more of the festive night devours him. Bernadetta catches him as he wearily trudges towards his room, a tired twintailed pinkhead nearly suffocating him as she perches herself firmly on his back. The way Hilda holds on to him is with an obvious aversion to getting her reddish hands, coated a little with crushed leaves and sticky sap, directly anywhere on him, and her arms wrap themselves awkwardly around his neck.

**“I am never letting Claude’s dare get to me again--”**

**“You tried too hard to impress the thief of your dreams. Quite a feat from someone who hates exerting effort, really.”**

**“You wanted me to save the kitty too! Oh, hello-- Bernadetta, wasn’t it? Would you like-- oh, she disappeared. That was quite the squeal, wasn’t it?”**

**“Certainly more authentic than the painful show you put up to get away from the embarrassment earlier.”**

**“THE FLOWERS REALLY DO STING, LINHARDT!”**


	7. evaluate accumulated data

The flowers stung and bit and gnawed on Hilda’s fingers. For much of the time that Linhardt treated her-- her fingers not at all brittle despite the softness of delicate skin, but now breaking out in fragile and dry bricked paths stretched across her digits-- Hilda’s complaints about his skin repeatedly filled her monologues.

**“Clearly you’re doing something to get your hands constantly irritable like this.”**

**“No, I’m not.”**

But despite the treatment, Hilda’s recovery is slow and exhausting. Everytime her fingers start looking better, she comes back to him with fresh rashes and mildly stiff joints.

**“Maybe you should stop picking those flowers.”**

**“With hands like these, I don’t even get called to train much anymore!”**

**“Hands like these make _me_ train more.”**

During one of their sleepovers, Hilda’s hands have recuperated enough for her to be able to braid his hair again. The familiar way her fingers weave through shiny veridian, her fingertips grazing softly at his scalp, brings him to sleep faster than the usual midday light has in the past few days. Peacefulness isn’t exactly an option when the enigmatic young professor came home to them with hair glistening in mint, and trying to make sense of the restless atmosphere that hovered over the monastery right after is hard to wade through. The whole world is abuzz with the sound of a soft, solemn song during the nights, crooned by an immaculate voice descending through the heavens behind each and every step Byleth makes in the halls.

It’s either the unsettling knowledge of something important happening with his eyes closed or the haunting lullaby doing nothing to relax everyone that keeps Linhardt awake and alert for more hours than he’s used to in a day.

**“If you’re not careful, your precious skin would bear the burdens of your stress~”** Hilda mentions, sing-song. Her lap is warm and comforting and he is at peace, thoughts of his complexion an echo from a world of wakefulness. **“Such a good thing you’ve got Hilda Valentine Goneril to make you look pretty even when you’re struggling, don’t you think?”**

**“I did most of the work for you the past few days…”** So he deserves this, he leaves out, mouth too tired and body too drowsy to form words.

**“That’s why I’m making it up to you now.”** is the last thing he hears before his eyes open to a cool, sullen morning, screams of anguish and bravery and clangs of heavy metal against firm flesh resounding diabolically all over Fódlan.


	8. confirm hypothesis

The smell of salt and sea. The flurry of winds as wyverns chase clouds and dive into prey.

Linhardt’s hand reaches behind his head, fingertips tracing the fancy tight hair band fondly tying weary myrtle together. 

( Linhardt doesn’t consider himself quite the colorful guy-- colors beckon attention, outrageously loud and unwavering in its might, and attention begets perception of his presence and the things he chooses to do and not to do.

**“It was a loooot of effort trying to get the flowers to keep their colors you know? Had to find a special kind of solution to dip them in that wouldn’t drain them out, but also keep them from glowing too much in the dark… They’ve got to be bright enough to not look weird on your hair, just a cute little teal accent that works so good with your natural hair color-- and _only your hair color_ , okay!”**

Tiny, soft teal petals sewn into gentle verdant ribbons adorn the braid that curls softly by his neck. They’re a fond sprinkle of pearls hidden between vine-like wraps that twist around and inside strands of his hair, and when Hilda turns the lights off the pearls-- the petals-- oh, how they shine with the faintest glow of subtle affection; oh, how the dark ribbon hugs the flora like how clouds whisper amongst the stars. )

The color of sweet party punch, a sweet trickle from the great banquet, swimming through a sea of people, enduring pink and unforgiving red and shrewd yellow and black smoke and orange fire floating on jaded alabaster and silky cobalt.

Dances and feasts. Intricate footwork and bodies swinging and voices screaming in mirth. Unyielding and firm and rambunctious while they reminisce of the way they swung their weapons and wielded their magic.

A hero’s axe is raised to the heavens to deliver results.

( **“...Do you like it?”** )


	9. draw conclusion

**“Well, did you?”**

**“I _do_ ,”** Linhardt corrects her. 

**“I know, I just wanted to hear you say it,”** Hilda giggles, eyes never leaving a budding craft in her hands. Bright purple petals bloom outwards like quiet waves cupped in orange-dyed twine, and she meticulously looks the arrangement over before starting the same design with a new set of petals and twine, painstakingly planting each petal in her perfect arrangement.

 **“I’ll be clearing the table of tea once you start on your resin, mind you,”** Linhardt speaks through her concentration, sipping the last drop of tea from his cup. **“Surely that tells you just how much I adore your skilled handiworks.”**

 **“Yes, yes,”** Hilda replies automatically, temporarily freeing herself of work for a quick sip of her own drink. **“Time sure flies when you hear someone fondly recalling memories and before you know it, your tea’s gone super cold!”**

**“Let this be the one and only time I indulge your request to provide you with background noise so you can comfortably work.”**

**“I wanted you to sing!”**

**“Sing praises of you, you mean.”**

**“Well, you sorta did… in words, not in, you know, melodies.”**

**“The call of sleep mid-sentence was dire and incessant.”**

**“And I applaud you for getting through it all.”**

**“Are those for my new hair band, by any chance?”**

**“Nope. I’m making us friendship bracelets.”**

**“ _Only_ after five and a half long years of my patience and devotion? I feel mildly offended it’s taken you this long to proclaim our friendship. Whatever happened to being black market dealers of secrets?”**

**“It was five and a half long years of me perfecting my craft and trying to get a hold of you for, what do you call them? Confirming your hypotheses and stuff like that? Confirming the state of our friendship, I mean. Especially during that whole war where being a black market secret dealer didn’t even feel like anything anymore. Anyway, haven’t you taken your time with your Crest studies as well? How’s that going for you?”**

**“Relaxing and satisfactory. Unfortunately, being dragged into war did not give me as many leads as I thought. Too many forged histories, not enough interesting tall tales that may or may not be actual truth.”**

**“Aw, poor you. Hey, hold out your hand for me.”**

Golden warmth descends on them as the sun prepares for slumber. The sky mixes lilac with peach, drowning out the fading cerulean, and calls forth a refreshing breeze that makes light tree branches nudge the day’s exhaustion away and shower them with floral blooms and the scent of better days. Hilda’s hands have become sturdier, a little heavier, just a tad weightier, but delicately still in the same way thin, scented paper flutters. With his arm stretched out before her, she wraps and lightly knots comfortable paper ribbons around his wrist.

**“What do you think about this green being the color of freedom?”**

**“Makes me think of grass.”**

**“Like a big, empty flower field? I think that sounds exactly like your perfect place to nap.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the mods of @ultrararepairb1: @purple_bookcover, @el__ubert, and @dustofwarfare, for hosting this event! this is the first project ive ever worked on that i managed to finish-- it makes me look forward to making more!
> 
> thank you too to dreamycait on instagram for the linhil brainworms and drawing for this fic ;;__;; it was so much fun working with you, and i look forward to future collabs!!! mayhaps.. the phantom thieves au for linhil/sewer trio soon...? CAIT ART HERE: https://www.instagram.com/p/CEpGRBMnUZV/?igshid=wle3aq6w2m2r !!!
> 
> AND ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @HORSEGIRLFERDIE-- the idea of linhardt and hilda being friends all started with you and our college au server with them being childhood friends... i love u wife ur the best
> 
> i hope u all enjoyed reading this, and do take the time to read the rest of the fics in the collection, as well as check out the #ultrararepairbigbang tag on twitter for the art!! btw, i also drew for @holstsmuse's ignette fic for the event, here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248885 !!!!!
> 
> good work, everyone!! :arm: :arm: <333 !!!!


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